


I Care For You

by anxietymouse22



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fever, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Sick Jaskier | Dandelion, Sickfic, Worried Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:08:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28707936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxietymouse22/pseuds/anxietymouse22
Summary: Jaskier falls ill while they're traveling, and it's up to Geralt to take care of him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 293





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AKA, a sickfic for the sake of sickfic because I'm trash.
> 
> This is my first post ever on AO3, and my first Geralt/Jaskier fic! Please forgive me for any errors, it's still a work in progress. :)

It was pouring rain.

They — as in, Jaskier and Roach, Geralt got to actually _ride_ the horse — had been walking for hours, and Jaskier, at least, was thoroughly soaked. His thin, pretty clothes never did too well when exposed to the elements, and by now, he was freezing. He was also filled with a bone-deep exhaustion, and was beginning to trail far behind Geralt, only barely managing to keep the brilliant white hair within sight.

“Geralt? Will we be stopping soon?” The bard called, his voice hoarse from lack of use, but Geralt was either too far ahead to hear him, or was ignoring the question.

Jaskier sighed, his lungs wheezing slightly with the effort. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself in an effort to keep warm, and trudged along. They’d have to stop eventually, right?

But Geralt kept pressing on. Jaskier had lost track of how long it had been — minutes? Hours? His head was swimming, and each muddy step hammered at his skull. He was also beginning to feel dizzying waves of heat, despite the icy rain that was dripping down his spine through his useless, soaked collar. Fighting the wooziness, he attempted to dodge a large puddle, but teetered unsteadily and lost his balance. The poor bard let out a strangled yelp as he fell onto the wet ground, which was at least blessedly cool. He let his eyes slip closed, unable to summon the energy to get up again, or even to call out for Geralt. If he was going to die right here in the rain, alone, then so be it.

Geralt was ripped from his brooding thoughts when he heard a muffled cry and the sound of a body hitting earth. He turned sharply, only to see his bard crumpled in the road, a surprising distance behind him. The Witcher instantly drew his sword, but no threat materialized to his heightened senses, so he re-sheathed the blade and urged Roach back to his companion.

The next thing Jaskier heard was the galloping hooves of a horse, and he whimpered, curling in on himself and hoping he wouldn’t be trampled. But then the animal halted, and strong hands were suddenly pulling him to his feet.

“Jaskier?”

He forced his bleary eyes open, only to see worried gold orbs peering down at him.

“‘M fine,” he mumbled, his voice scraping out of his throat. But his knees buckled, and he sagged against Geralt, who caught him without thinking.

The Witcher took in Jaskier’s oddly flushed face, and pressed the back of his hand to Jaskier’s forehead. He gasped a bit at the heat he felt there, and hurried to test the temperature on the rest of the bard’s face.

“You have a fever, but your lips are turning blue from the cold,” he growled.

“Alw’s an ‘nigma,” Jaskier chuckled wearily, but it caught in his chest and he coughed, deep and hacking. He was suddenly so cold, so cold, so cold...

Geralt swept his cloak off and wrapped it around Jaskier’s thin frame, drawing him in close. Jaskier shivered, but for a moment it had nothing to do with not being able to feel his fingers.

“Jaskier,” Geralt murmured, his voice low and tight with worry, “we can’t stop here, it’s too sodden to make camp. But the town is just a mile up. Can you make it till then?”

Jaskier just blinked up at him, his eyes fever-bright and owlish.

Geralt gritted his teeth. The bard would just have to hang on a bit longer. He mounted Roach quickly, and then swung Jaskier up in front of him. Jaskier immediately buried his face in Geralt’s neck, and the Witcher stiffened momentarily before tightening his grip around the man and grabbing the reins.

“Let’s hurry, Roach,” Geralt said, spurring her into a run, and they raced for the next village.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Jaskier trembled as the rain and humid wind cut through Geralt’s cloak, and shrunk closer to the Witcher’s warmth. He could feel Geralt’s arms wrapped around him, and it would be amazing if he didn’t feel like such utter garbage.

Geralt, for his part, was attempting to shield Jaskier from the elements as much as he could. Now that the bard was so close, he could sense the pain the bard was feeling — how long had Jaskier been sick? How could he have missed it? For all the shit Geralt gave Jaskier about complaining, the man really didn’t speak up when it came to his health. Or maybe he had, and Geralt had just brushed it off.

His self-reproachful thoughts were interrupted by the bard looking up at him, his striking blue eyes red-rimmed and watery. 

“‘M riding Roach,” he croaked.

Geralt knit his brow. “Of course you are.”

“‘S nice. First time,” Jaskier got out, before succumbing to a coughing fit he muffled in the cloak, his body shaking violently.

Geralt felt a wave of guilt course through him, and his arm tightened protectively around the bard. After all this time, he had never allowed Jaskier to even touch his horse. He rubbed Jaskier’s back until the fit subsided, and the bard slumped against Geralt, exhausted. He urged Roach to go faster, overwhelmed with shame and worry.

It felt like an eternity passed before Geralt finally saw the hazy lights of a town ahead. He knew he was pushing Roach, perhaps too hard, but damn it, Jaskier shouldn’t be out in this weather. He’d make it up to her.

They raced to the tiny inn, and with one fluid motion Geralt slid from Roach’s back and gently lifted Jaskier down after him. The bard was still conscious, but clearly out of it. He leaned heavily against the Witcher as the two made their way inside.

“I need a room, preferably with a bath, and some hot stew if you’ve got it. Plus, a stable for my horse,” Geralt said to the innkeeper.

The man flinched away from the “beast in a man’s body”, as his kind were often called, and Geralt glowered at him. “I assume you have the ability to pay?” The man eyed Jaskier suspiciously, who slunk down deeper in the cloak, and Geralt bared his teeth.

“Of course,” he snapped, tossing the coin across the bar.

The innkeeper pressed his lips into a straight line, displeased, but passed a key over. “Second room on the left.”

Geralt nodded to him curtly, and proceeded to gently ease Jaskier up the stairs.

Jaskier made it as far as the threshold of their room before he all but collapsed. Now that he didn’t have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, it seemed his body was fully giving up. 

Geralt dragged him onto the bed. “You have to get out of these clothes.”

“Knew you’d wanna get me naked ‘ventually,” Jaskier rasped, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips, and Geralt threw the dry clothes at his head.

“No, you idiot, those are soaked. You’re ruining the bed,” he grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice, too.

Jaskier laughed, but it quickly tumbled into a deep, painful coughing fit. Geralt was immediately at his side, holding the bard upright and rubbing his back.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Geralt murmured, his golden eyes flashing with worry.

“Dunno,” Jaskier wheezed, struggling to catch his breath. “Day or two?” He slumped weakly against Geralt, relishing the contact.

The Witcher frowned, mentally kicking himself. Jaskier had been coughing here and there, and he  _ had _ seemed unusually tired. But Geralt hadn’t thought anything of it. 

“I’ll draw you a bath,” Geralt said quietly, getting up. “The steam should help your lungs.”

Internally, Jaskier groaned. While a bath sounded nice and all, he was so damn tired, and every joint in his body was aching. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he knew the Witcher was probably right. He let his eyes close while Geralt filled the tub, but too soon, the man was back, pulling him to his feet once more.

Jaskier shakily began to undress, shivering as the cold air hit his skin, and half-jumped, half-fell into the hot water. A contented sigh escaped his lips, dragging a jagged cough with it that brought tears to his eyes.

“Jask,” Geralt murmured, and Jaskier flinched. He had almost forgotten Geralt was there. “Maybe I should get a healer.”

“No, no, I’m alright,” Jaskier choked out, embarrassed. 

Geralt frowned at him, his golden eyes soft with concern. “You don’t sound alright.”

The bard blushed as his insides grew warm and mushy, and quickly attempted to deflect with humor. “Awww, Geralt, I didn’t know you cared!” he grinned widely.

It worked, for now. Geralt glowered at him. “Of course I do, you brat.”

Jaskier smiled cheekily, and proceeded to wash his hair with more energy than he felt, his heart still warmed by Geralt’s display of affection.


	3. Chapter 3

It seemed that the very moment Jaskier dragged himself from the cooling bath water he began to feel chilled again. How was it so damn cold in here? He couldn’t seem to get dressed fast enough, pulling his worn cardigan around him, but even that didn’t help much.

At some point during his bath, the innkeeper must have brought the stew up, but Jaskier wasn’t hungry. He flopped down on the bed next to Geralt.

“You should eat,” the Witcher rumbled after a few quiet moments.

Jaskier didn’t answer, and Geralt realized the bard was shivering. He dragged the blankets up around him.

Jaskier managed a weak smile. “‘S o-okay. T-thanks G-g-geralt.”

“Hmm,” the Witcher grunted, eyeing the bard, but to his surprise, the man seemed to already be drifting off to sleep.

Maybe that was for the best. If Jaskier could get some rest, he might have a chance to heal.

Geralt tucked the blankets more tightly around the bard, blew out all the candles except for one near the bedside, and laid down beside his companion. It wasn’t long before he, too, fell asleep.

***

Some time later, Geralt jolted awake, unsure of what roused him. How long had he been asleep? The room was still dark, and appeared undisturbed.

But then Jaskier cried out again, and the Witcher realized what had woke him.

Jaskier looked awful. What little reprieve the bath had given him was long gone now, leaving the bard pale, with dark circles ringing his eyes and a red flush high on his cheeks.

Geralt slid a hand onto Jaskier’s forehead, and silently cursed at the heat there. If anything, it seemed that Jaskier’s fever had only gone up.

The Witcher leapt to his feet, quickly wetting a cloth with cool water, and placed it across the bard’s boiling face. Then he began carefully peeling the blankets back.

Jaskier was startled out of his drowsing by a sudden rush of cool air. “No!” He cried, trying to cling to the warm blankets being taken from him.

“Jask,” a voice murmured, “you’re too hot.”

“No, no, no, so cold!” Jaskier whimpered.

“You’re not, you’re burning up. Try to drink some water for me,” the voice continued, and he felt a mug press to his lips. He took a tentative sip, then drank more deeply as the water soothed his aching throat.

A hand carded through his hair, and all of sudden Jaskier realized the voice (and hand) belonged to Geralt. He let out a tiny whimper of relief, melting into the Witcher’s touch. It felt wonderfully cool and so gentle, more than Jaskier had thought anyone could be to him. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard.

Geralt moved to re-wet the now-warm cloth, but Jaskier shot his hand out and latched onto Geralt’s shirt. “Don’t go!”

“We have to get your fever down,” the Witcher growled, his voice tight and worried.

To his dismay, Jaskier’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Geralt. Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving,” he said softly. “Just one second.”

And then Geralt was gone. Jaskier let out a heartbroken sob. Geralt  _ left  _ him, and he deserved it. What Witcher would want to be tied down by a miserably sick, weak human? He could barely keep up as it was, and now they had to stop and Geralt was losing money from contracts and losing money to the inn and -

“Jaskier!” 

Geralt’s hand returned to his hair, and Geralt was back,  _ he didn’t leave him!  _ The bard threw his arms around his Witcher as a new sob bubbled out.

“Jask, what’s wrong? It’s okay, it’s okay,” Geralt murmured, slightly too frantic to be comforting, pulling the bard in even tighter to his chest.

“Y-you lef-ft,” Jaskier babbled.

Geralt’s heart clenched. “Jaskier, look at me.”

The bard turned his face up and met Geralt’s endlessly soft golden gaze.

“I will never leave you,” the Witcher said quietly.

The conviction in his voice poured through Jaskier’s body like a wave, and fresh tears bit at his eyes. But the strangled cry caught in his throat and then he was coughing, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe -

Geralt pulled Jaskier upright, holding him to his chest as the bard struggled through the spasms. The coughs were thick and horrible, shaking Jaskier’s entire body violently.

When the fit finally subsided, Geralt gently leaned Jaskier back against the pillows, propping them up to keep his torso elevated. Jaskier sagged against them, completely gassed.

“I’m going to make you some tea,” Geralt said, his face drawn and eyes endlessly worried. He flipped the cloth on Jaskier’s head to the cool side.

The bard didn’t have the energy to protest, and Geralt, to his credit, made the drink quickly. At first taste, Jaskier could tell it was doused with honey, and he smiled gratefully.

Geralt carded a hand through Jaskier’s hair, his brilliant eyes seemingly piercing through the bard’s soul. 

“Finish that, and go back to sleep. Your fever is still too high,” Geralt said.

Jaskier took the final swig and set the mug down. But to Geralt’s surprise, the bard dove back into him, his arms encircling his torso, and mumbled something.

“What’s that?” Geralt asked, still petting his hair so tenderly it made Jaskier ache in ways he didn’t know he could.

Jaskier withdrew his head slightly, looking up at the Witcher with those heart-stoppingly blue eyes. “I love you, Geralt.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the last chapter, short and sweet. Thanks for reading, everyone! <3

For a moment, Geralt’s throat seemed to close.

Deep down, the Witcher supposed he knew. The two showed their love for each other in many ways without ever saying it: Jaskier plucked Geralt’s favorite melodies on his lute after hard days. Geralt chose contracts in towns where he knew Jaskier would both make coin and be appreciated. Jaskier prepared Geralt’s baths and washed his hair for him, no matter how disgusting. Geralt gave Jaskier the best cuts of meat at mealtime, the softest patches of earth to lay his bedroll.

Jaskier, always quick to fight to defend him. Jaskier, who smiled even when Geralt snapped. Jaskier, who was sunlight in every sense of the word, Geralt just happy to be in his orbit.

“Say it again,” Geralt choked out, surprising even himself.

Jaskier beamed at him, radiant. “I love you.”

And then Geralt was kissing him hungrily, as though Jaskier was a banquet and Geralt was starving, and Jaskier was kissing him back just as hard, and Geralt’s hands were lost in Jaskier’s hair and Jaskier was pressing into him, closer than ever - 

But then Jaskier pulled away quickly, and Geralt was hurt for a split second before Jaskier doubled over with three wet, harsh sneezes.

“Bless you,” the Witcher chuckled, brushing the bard’s hair back out of his bloodshot eyes. “Are you alright?”

Jaskier gave him a watery smile, sniffling. “Yes, dearest.”

Geralt could feel the tops of his ears burn pink from the nickname, and he had to work very hard not to jump Jaskier again and kiss him senseless. “You’d better get some rest.”

Jaskier puffed his bottom lip out in a pout. “But I’m having so much fun!”

“There’ll be time for that later, when you’re well,” Geralt smirked, helping the bard lay back.

“Well, if you promise,” Jaskier said petulantly, but the Witcher could see the exhaustion taking over.

“I promise,” Geralt smiled softly.

Jaskier tugged at the Witcher’s shirt, so Geralt carefully laid down beside him. The bard immediately snuggled into Geralt’s arms.

“I’m holding you to that,” he mumbled drowsily.

“I’d expect nothing less,” the Witcher chuckled. “And Jaskier?”

“Hmm?” 

“I love you too.”


End file.
